


tony and peter's super boring day of fun

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Irondad, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, Utter Nonsense, and there's a raccoon involved, are you finished with those errands, they're both idiots, tony and peter run errands :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: When Peter tells Tony that he wants to spend the day with him, he expects a little something like sitting courtside at a Knicks game or flying to Milan for dinner. And maybe there’s a bit of tinkering involved or a few meetings where Peter is introduced as a scribe instead of an intern, but it’s not demeaning because really, he’s only there to make Tony feel a little more comfortable. He expects that stuff—billionaire stuff.But what Peter doesn’t expect is a day so mundane, he thinks he could do better with a receipt and the wad of one-dollar-bills burning a hole in his pocket.orExactly what it sounds like—Tony and Peter have a super boring day of fun.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 181





	tony and peter's super boring day of fun

When Peter tells Tony that he wants to spend the day with him, he expects a little something like sitting courtside at a Knicks game or flying to Milan for dinner. And maybe there’s a bit of tinkering involved or a few meetings where Peter is introduced as a scribe instead of an intern, but it’s not demeaning because really, he’s only there to make Tony feel a little more comfortable. He expects that stuff—billionaire stuff.

But what Peter doesn’t expect is a day so mundane, he thinks he could do better with a receipt and the wad of one-dollar-bills burning a hole in his pocket.

It starts with Tony dropping by the apartment at nine o’clock that morning. Without his Tom Ford sunglasses, anyone unfamiliar with the man’s face and ego could easily mistake him for an average person in his track pants and Black Sabbath tee. Peter has to blink to make sure he’s not imagining the fact that his mentor walked outside in _that_. The best part about Tony is that he’s far from caring about impressions.

May offers him a scone and a smoothie made with a protein powder that makes Peter’s stomach churn. Tony, in his kindest, most dignified celebrity—albeit slightly ostentatious—voice, declines and sets an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“I’ll take good care of our little tike,” Tony says to May as he reaches up to ruffle Peter’s hair.

Peter squirms away and scowls at the touch, adjusting his hair so that the strands will fall back into the right places. “I’m sixteen,” he grumbles. It’s not like he’s offended by Tony’s playful, aged-down humor—in a way, it’s endearing—but he had only turned sixteen a few days ago. According to _The Little Mermaid_ , that means he’s not a child anymore.

“He still begs me to buy him Froot Loops,” May remarks, and with a sly smirk, she winks at Peter. “If you guys aren’t back before ten tonight, I’m suing your company.” She points at Tony with a spoon.

“You won’t be the first.” He looks at Peter with a raised brow. “Froot Loops? I expected more from you, kid.”

“I hate when you guys are together,” Peter mutters under his breath. “You just make fun of me the whole time. I changed my mind, I don’t wanna hang out with you.”

Tony places his arm around Peter’s shoulders once again, tugging him close to his side, and Peter convinces himself that it’s _almost_ a hug, but his arm quickly drops. “No take-backs. I’m here, you got me. We gotta get a move on if we wanna make our brunch reservation.”

“You made a reservation?” Peter asks excitedly. He’s not even hungry—he had May’s chalky smoothie, and he _still_ feels queasy, but he likes the idea of going to a billionaire’s ideal brunch spot. Peter feels like he’s hardly dressed for the occasion. But then again, Tony’s wearing sneakers.

Tony doesn’t answer his question as he starts toward the door. May says a quick goodbye—still a bit dejected that he hadn’t accepted her smoothie—and reaches to ruffle Peter’s head as Tony had done.

“ _No_ , don’t,” Peter whines, but his discomfort is pushed aside by laughter. “Let’s just go,” he says to Tony before brushing past him.

His mentor shrugs, then he turns to May and says, “it’s been lovely—we’ll have coffee sometime” while Peter heads off down the hall.

He isn’t too far down when Tony catches up to him. As he rests a hand on his shoulder, Peter thinks he might have made a mistake in asking to spend the day with Tony. They’ve hung out before—sure, plenty of times. They’ve tinkered on suits for hours on end, sometimes staying up until the sun rises. Other times, they’ve done normal things like eating baked garlic lemon salmon and watching a back-to-back marathon of _Buck Rogers in the 25th Century._ If that was considered normal.

Peter had no idea what the show was, but he liked it because Tony said it used to be his favorite show as a kid.

“If you had to tag me as any character from any Sci-Fi movie or show—” Peter had begun that night, slightly regretting the seafood but wishing he, instead, had something a little less fancy like popcorn. “—who would I be?”

“Tag you?” Tony asked, raising his brow.

Peter nodded at the question. “Yeah, like, what character would I be?”

“Twiki.”

“No, I mean, from _any_ show _ever_ ,” he added.

Tony thought for a moment, or at least he made it look like he was thinking. “Twiki,” he said again. “But with a much higher voice.”

Peter laughed and shoved a pillow toward Tony. “ _No_ , stop. He’s so annoying, Mister Stark. I don’t have a bowl head.”

“Yeah, you got a cone head.”

Peter reached up to feel his head. “Do not,” he muttered.

“Twiki’s cool, kid, relax,” Tony said. “Him and Buck—they’re friends. Kind of. And if you’re Twiki, that would make me Buck.”

Peter brought his legs up onto the couch as he sat up. With a smile, he asked, “are you—are you saying we’re _friends_ , Mister Stark?”

Tony laughed. “Sure, kid, we’re friends.”

Now, Peter’s hoping for a less-than-normal day, but he doesn’t know what to expect anymore. With Tony, the unexpected _should_ be expected. He’s known him long enough; he should have figured it out by now, but honestly, Peter still doesn’t know Tony as well as he wants to. He _thinks_ he knows that today is going to be either the worst or best day ever. He can’t tell.

It’s about a thirty-minute drive into lower Manhattan, and Tony spends it spinning words off of his tongue with his opinion on the best public bathrooms in the East Village—and Peter isn’t listening whatsoever. What he has learned about Tony in the past year is that the man talks to talk. He talks to amuse the dead space, and Peter is a pair of open ears that have discovered how to block it out. Of course, he tunes back in when he has to. Sometimes.

Peter eyes every fancy-looking brunch place they pass. But when Tony finally parallel-parks into a spot beside an eyebrow studio and a bagel shop, Peter can’t see a single restaurant within the block.

He doesn’t question it at first, and Tony doesn’t say anything as he exits the car. Peter follows him toward the bagel shop.

“Didn’t you say you had a reservation?” Peter asks, stepping inside when his mentor opens the door for him. It jingles.

“Yeah,” Tony replies. He pushes his sunglasses further up his nose despite being indoors. “Every Saturday I come in here between 9:30 and 10. They love me here.”

A guy in a black apron behind the counter grins, and immediately, Tony is coerced over. “Hey, Tony Stark,” the guy says—accent proudly New York—in the midst of helping other customers. Those customers turn, bug-eyed and dazed at the sight of the billionaire. The guy’s gaze falls onto Peter. “This a little Stark?”

Peter wants to laugh, but Tony does it for him.

“No, nope, definitely not,” he says, patting Peter on the head awkwardly. “This is my intern Peter, and he will be having—”

“Just a plain bagel with cream cheese,” Peter answers without even thinking about the menu.

Tony raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding.”

“What am I kidding about?”

“Kid, that’s the most boring—”

“The usual for you, Mister Stark?” the man behind the counter asks.

Tony nods. “Yes. With muenster. And a small coffee.” He turns back to Peter, who, in all honesty, is trying not to pinch himself to wake up. “Anything else, Pete?”

“Uh—no. I’m good.”

“Not even water?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, nodding. “Water would be good.”

Tony eyes Peter like he has something more to say, and he probably does. He probably has a million different thoughts interfering with each other since he’s about to be on his third or fourth coffee of the day. Instead, he gives Peter his “we’ll talk about this in the car” look.

And once they’re in the car with their unwrapped bagels on their laps, Tony immediately begins with, “okay, spill the beans. You’re terrible at hiding your feelings. Is it about my outfit? Because I swear to God, kid, if I have to hear another comment about these pants from either you or Pepper, I’m gonna start selling your Spider-Man stuff on the black market.”

“Bold of you to assume I already haven’t been doing that,” says Peter.

Tony reaches over and thumbs a bit of cream cheese from off of Peter’s cheek. “Would you even know how?” he asks, seemingly unaware of the action he just made.

Peter, still in a bit of shock, says, “I have my ways.”

Tony hums. “Sure you do.”

“And there’s nothing wrong,” Peter adds with a shrug. “No feelings.”

“No feelings, huh?” Tony takes a sip of his coffee and winces at the taste. “Deliciously disgusting. You ready to keep moving? Gonna knock your socks off with this next fun adventure.”

“Thank God.”

His excitement, however, is a bit premature as he finds himself standing on a stained, matted carpet in the allergy medicine aisle of a Rite Aid pharmacy. By this point, Peter thinks he has to be dreaming. Or this is one big cruel joke to get back at him for breaking Droney.

Tony approaches from the side with Zyrtec and Lactaid in his hands. “Did you wanna pick out some candy?”

Yeah, Peter’s dreaming.

“It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning, Mister Stark,” he says. There’s still plenty of time to do the cool fancy things like Peter expected, but as he watches strangers gasp at the sight of the billionaire in their local pharmacy, it’s hard to believe it could go uphill from there.

“And?”

Peter stares at him with a blank expression, and a beat later, sighs out, “yeah, I’ll be right back.”

He picks out Twizzlers and Junior Mints for the road.

Tony buckles up when they’re back in the car again, and Peter is relieved. It means they’re leaving and they’re going somewhere—hopefully—fun. But, in all honesty, Peter would be satisfied with going back to Tony’s and having a few cans of ginger ale as they watch Animal Planet all day long. It sounds better than overhearing strangers wonder why some kid is hanging out with Tony Stark.

Peter lets out a sigh, a dramatic one that lets Tony know that, yes, maybe there is something wrong. But instead, Peter speaks up first. “Mister Stark,” he says, “what _are_ we doing today?”

“Well, I gotta do some stuff,” Tony answers, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Errands and such. Figured you wouldn’t mind tagging along, right, Pete? That is, unless you don’t wanna hang out with your old man, then fine, I won’t be offended. Just mildly hurt. ‘Tis but a scratch.”

Peter’s lips curl into a smile. “My old man?”

“Yes.” Tony turns toward him, and in his most convincing Darth Vader voice, says, “I am your father.”

Peter closes his eyes, leaning back into his seat as his smile grows. There’s embarrassment but then there’s fondness. He can’t differentiate between the two. “And you make fun of _me_ for my _Star Wars_ references,” he says.

“Well, duh,” Tony replies, “because you’re a nerd. And you get all defensive and your nose scrunches up. It’s cute.” He pulls out into the street as he speaks.

Peter rolls his eyes. He can’t believe this is the man he looks up to. “What are we doing now?”

“Gotta pick up some dry-cleaning,” the man says.

“Oh, my God,” Peter mutters. “I’m gonna die here.”

It’s fine, to say the least. Peter enjoys spending time with Tony, no matter what the end up doing. But grocery shopping isn’t a “Tony & Peter” thing. It’s hardly even a “May & Peter” thing because Peter is only home for a few hours in a day. And he feels bad about it—he loves grocery shopping, but grocery shopping with Tony Stark, of all people, doesn’t make sense.

When they pull up to a Stop & Shop farther upstate, Peter feels himself sink into his chair. He doesn’t know how he did it, but somehow, he has gotten himself involved in a father-son day, and there’s no way of getting out of it. Next, maybe they’ll throw some baseballs and check out new paints at Home Depot.

Actually, Peter wouldn’t mind the latter. He likes reading the different names for each color.

“You wanna stay in the car or come in with?” Tony asks, shifting the gear into _park_. “All I need are some veggie chips, granola bars, and those Mott’s fruit snacks you devour every time you swing by.”

“They’re really good,” Peter utters, a bit ashamed while unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll come in. I kinda like seeing everyone’s reaction to you shopping like a normal human being.”

Tony lets out a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m so normal, kid. If you had to picture someone normal—” He points his thumbs at his chest. “—I’m your guy.”

“Says the billionaire superhero,” Peter replies as he gets out of the car, and Tony isn’t too far behind.

“What? You think _you’re_ normal?”

“I’m totally normal.”

Tony nods and smirks. “Uh-uh, sure,” he says. “Normal…”

Peter can sense the car keys about to be thrown before they’ve even left Tony’s hand. He catches them right in front of his face.

“You’re right,” Tony remarks. “Totally normal.”

“Does this mean I can drive your car?”

“Sure,” he says without sparing a glance, “once you stop calling the gear shift _PRNDL_ , then I will let you drive my fifty-thousand-dollar car until your little heart gives out.”

Peter dances the keys around his fingers and smirks before calling out, “ _think fast!_ ” just as the keys are tossed Tony’s way. They are both quick to realize that Peter’s aim wasn’t the best once Tony turns. The keys hit his forehead and clatter to the ground. And Tony stares at Peter like he just dipped his grimy fingers into the icing of his birthday cake.

“Sorry…” Peter laughs dryly.

Apparently, Tony finds it amusing to watch strangers gawk at him. He waltzes through the double doors with his head held high, dipping his sunglasses at the employee wiping down carts before he grabs a basket. Peter smiles and waves awkwardly.

“I’m gonna regret letting you come in here with me,” Tony says once they’re stopped in the produce section. He tosses an apple in his hand and shines it on his shirt. “I’m notorious for spoiling you, and I’m already seeing you ogle at the cereal aisle.”

“Sorry—I thought I saw the new Lucky Charms.”

“So, what’s the deal with you and that girl from your school?” Tony asks as he ambles. There’s a couple in the distance sneaking a picture, but the flash goes off. So, he sends them a peace sign and carries on.

Peter nearly trips over his shoelaces at the question. “W-what girl?” His flaming cheeks, however, are a dead giveaway.

“Ah okay,” Tony says flatly. “Sure. I see how it is. Just because I can keep your biggest secret doesn’t mean I’m allowed to know _all_ your secrets.” He turns down the breakfast food aisle, sights set on granola bars while Peter keeps an eye out for that Lucky Charms box he was talking about. “Hey, kid—look at this. Iron Man bag clips. What’d’ya think? Too tacky?”

Peter chuckles at the sight—gaudy reds and yellows with the saddest-looking Iron Man helmet chipping away on the plastic. “When am I gonna get my own merch? I’m only doin’ this superhero stuff so I can be on a tote bag.”

“Ya wanna be on a tote bag? I’ll put you on a tote bag.”

“Don’t make it sound so threatening, Mister Stark.”

Peter all but blinks, and suddenly they’re in the drive-thru of a Starbucks listening to Pink Floyd on low volume. But Peter can only hear Tony’s rendition of the song, and truthfully, his voice isn’t bad. The man has made it his goal to be two notches above Peter all day, from playing frisbee with boxes in the middle of the grocery store to avoiding cracks in the sidewalk. ( _“My mom’s dead but you can never be too careful.” “Hey, same. I love morbid humor.”)_ The conversation lulls never last more than a minute, and for that, Peter is grateful—since the day has been so _boring_ otherwise.

He can’t imagine where it could go next.

“Am I getting you anything _other_ than a sugary frappuccino with two pounds of whipped cream?” Tony asks, tapping the wheel to the beat of the song. “It makes me ashamed to be in the same car as you, you know.”

“I can’t have coffee,” Peter says, although it directly translates to _I don’t like coffee_ since he never actually tested the effects of caffeine in his body post-spider bite. “You like black coffee and I like sugary crap—the catch is that they both taste bad. We’re not so different after all, Mister Stark. You just have to open your eyes.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I did not raise you like this.”

“You didn’t raise me at all.”

_“Hi, welcome to Starbucks! What can I get started for ya?”_

Tony leans out the window and says, “what kind of coffee do you recommend for a little bitch kid who refuses to eat anything but the packets of sugar at restaurants?”

_“Uh—”_

“Do you want me to walk out into oncoming traffic?” Peter asks while Tony smirks over at him.

“Relax, kid—I’m forcing you to try something new.”

The _something new_ ends up being a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, and Peter is decently excited to try it. After a minute of watching his mentor take pictures with the drive-thru staff—Peter thinks he went to school with one of them—they’re back on the road with straws between their lips, and Peter gags at the taste.

“You eat this crap?” he says, smacking his tongue to the roof his mouth to recover from the flavor.

“No,” Tony replies cooly, “I drink it. Please tell me that you don’t have the power to solidify food, okay, cos’ that’s where I draw the line.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you—it’s just that you said _eat_ instead of _drink_ and it’s funny. You’re supposed to be a super genius like me, aren’t you?”

Peter sinks into his seat and glances at the clock with a sigh. It’s barely the afternoon. He’s not sure how he has even made it this far without breaking. One more mundane task, and Peter thinks he may completely lose it. He’s starting to think that was Tony’s goal all along. _How many errands can I run before Peter freaks out on me?_

He doesn’t think he’ll make it to four o’clock.

Somehow, it’s four o’clock, and Peter is still alive. He doesn’t blow up in a million pieces when Tony pulls into a Macy’s parking lot upstate without two hints as to why. He doesn’t pass out when the older man offers to buy him a designer suit for _four times_ the amount that May pays for her water bill. While Peter is still crossing his fingers and toes to do anything but shop, he realizes that he could be in worse positions. It’s better than the time he was trapped in a warehouse for three days with a concussion because he forgot where he was.

“This is boring,” Peter groans softly as they saunter through the kitchen section. Tony has been taking his sweet time glancing over every plate and blender that the store has to offer. “Can’t we do something else?”

“You said you wanted to spend the day with me,” Tony says, “and now you’re stuck here. If you’re so bored, you can web yourself home.”

“I don’t—” Peter sighs and mumbles, “I’d run out of it. You haven’t even told me what we’re doing here. I thought you had people to buy your stuff for you. What are we doing in a department store?”

Tony bends down to look at the colorful array of Kitchen Aid mixers. “Well, kid, as a matter of fact—it’s Pep’s birthday this week, and I’m an awful fiancé that decides to wait until the last minute to buy her stuff.”

“Can’t you just get her a cute blouse or something?”

Tony chuckles and straightens his posture. “Yeah, sure. Believe me when I tell you that I’ve been banned for life from buying her clothes. She never wears what I buy her.”

“What if I buy her clothes?”

“With what money?”

Peter twists his lips. “With—uh, my allowance, I guess.”

Tony laughs again, and Peter isn’t sure if it’s because he’s funny or a little airheaded at times. Nevertheless, it feels good to make him laugh. It’s nice to not have a constantly worried-sick billionaire yelling at you for breaking your nose for the third time in a month.

“If you buy her clothes, then she’ll probably never take them off—” Tony tells him as he hoists a Kitchen Aid box into his arms. The mixer inside is bright red. “—just because she hates me that much.”

“She loves you.”

“Yeah, she loves to tell me that she hates me.”

“I mean, you are kind of a narcissist.”

“What’d you just say to me?”

Tony and Peter are in the middle of a rousing argument outside of an Arby’s when FRIDAY makes her presence known. The conversation had every reason to end ten minutes prior, but granted, Peter thinks it’s funny to see Tony up in arms about which _Star Trek_ series was better. Peter argued for _Star Trek: Voyager_ while Tony was deeply offended over him not choosing _The Next Generation._

The heated argument quickly dies down when FRIDAY announces, _“Boss, there’s been a break-in at the compound.”_

Peter’s heart does a few leaps in his chest. “Oh, yeah,” he says, cracking his knuckles—only one of them actually makes a sound. “Now we’re talkin’.”

Tony is busy starting up the car and whipping out onto the street at full speed. “Yeah, _no_. We are absolutely _not_ talking. Kid, do you know how much shit I’ve got hidden away in there?”

“No, cos’ you don’t tell me.”

“Well, _a lot_ —” Tony reaches over to turn up the radio. “A lot of dangerous stuff.”

Peter shields his ears as the music blares through the speakers. The bass threads itself in his eardrums and vibrates through his spine. “Mister Stark—I’m sensitive!”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, kid.”

He lets out a sigh of relief once the music fades, but his muscles are still tight, grip hard on the door while Tony weaves carelessly through cars. Peter imagines his organs smushing against his ribcage with each rev of the engine.

“A-are you trying to—to kill me?” Peter says, mild whiplash already setting in.

Tony cracks an amused grin but keeps his eyes on the road. “Not at all. You comfortable? Got enough air?” As he reaches over to control the air valve, Peter slaps his hand away.

“Drive!”

Tony’s laughter fills the car. “Chill out. I’m a licensed race car driver.”

“That doesn’t make me any more comfortable.”

“Tell me—did someone help you shove a stick up your ass this morning, or did you do it all by yourself?” he asks, although his tone is light and teasing. The highway ahead is clear as he exceeds seventy miles-per-hour.

Peter presses a hand to his chin and grumbles into his sleeve, “I’m never asking to spend the day with you ever again.”

“I give it two weeks before you change your mind.”

Tony’s suit meets them outside of the compound once they arrive, and Peter nearly falls into the grass and kisses it. It’s sweet relief to not hear Metallica at top volume while breaking one-hundred on an open freeway. Peter’s legs feel like jelly.

The compound grounds are clear—night settling in while birds dwindle off into the sunset. Once they get inside, Peter regrets his choice of outfit for the matter. His suit is hung comfortably in his closet, and a hard pair of Levi’s and a shirt that says _“Ferrous Wheel”_ accompany him instead. His web-shooters dig into his skin from the moment he puts them on. Meanwhile, Tony towers above him, clad in red and gold as his eyes glow in the dark interior of the compound. The break-in occurred in sector seven.

“Did FRIDAY get a video of the guy?” Peter whispers, yet his voice echoes nevertheless.

“Nothin’ but a shadow,” Tony answers.

“How’d they even get in here?”

The mechanics of the Iron Man suit whir as Tony shrugs. “Not a damn clue. Security didn’t catch on. In the HVAC system, maybe. Look for broken glass. We can split off and—”

The sound of an object falling over from inside one of the labs cuts him off. Both Tony and Peter go rigid.

“Never mind,” Tony says. “We’ll stick together.”

“Does this happen often?” Peter continues with his questions. “Should you just hire better security? Why aren’t you—”

Tony presses a cold metal finger up to Peter’s lips. A faint noise reverberates through the walls. Chirping? Chittering? Peter furrows his brows at the sound.

“FRI, give me a total scan of the—”

Before Tony can finish his request, glass shatters from inside the room. The pair barge in before making any further assumptions, Tony raising his hand to catch the perpetrator mid-act while Peter realizes that he didn’t think his maskless outfit through. As fast as Tony got into a stance, he drops it.

“You’re kidding me.”

“What? Is he—” Peter walks around Tony to see what he’s looking at. “Oh.”

There, in the middle of the room and surrounded by a broken Erlenmeyer flask, sits a raccoon with wide eyes and shaky paws. It stares at them, motionless like a deer in headlights.

“FRIDAY,” Tony says quietly. “I think we’re gonna need to call Animal Control.”

_“Sure thing, Boss_.”

“What do we do?” Peter whispers, and still, the raccoon doesn’t move.

Tony turns to face Peter. “We go home,” he says before walking out the door.

“That’s it?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You don’t have another plan?” Peter asks, following close behind the suit of armor. “Should we capture it? There’s gotta be something else we can do.”

Tony doesn’t stop to talk. “It’s a raccoon, Pete, not a bad guy. We’ll have someone come by in the morning to take care of it. Besides, I gotta get you back to May before I lose my Peter-privileges.”

“I guess I just thought we’d do something—something _cooler_ ,” Peter says with a shrug. “Like work on a new project, or something.”

Tony turns around, and his helmet folds away to reveal his face. “Work? Kid, it’s Saturday.”

“I like working on stuff with you.”

He frowns. “You should’ve just told me. We could’ve figured something out. I had some errands to run, and I assumed you’d wanna tag along—” He starts back down the hall, voice dry as he speaks. “It’s my bad.”

“No, no, Mister Stark—” Peter jogs up to Tony’s side. “I had a good time today, I promise. I like when we get to work on things cos’ I—I still think it’s really cool that I get to do that with you. That’s all. And I like looking smart in front of you.”

Tony lets out a quiet laugh, and a metal hand comes up to gently ruffle Peter’s hair.

_“Hey!”_

“You are smart, kid,” Tony says. “And I like working with you, too. Your puns are so poorly timed, it’s hysterical. Pepper always says it’s like watching two of me work. Tell ya what—next weekend, we’ll spend a whole day up here. No department stores and disgusting coffee involved. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“So, are we gonna discuss the fact that you were prepared to web up some guy without a mask on?” Tony asks. “Cos’ I don’t know how the hell it didn’t occur to you.”

“I may be smart, Mister Stark, but I’m also an idiot.”

“You can say that again.”


End file.
